


De Nova Stella

by asocialconstruct



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialconstruct/pseuds/asocialconstruct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles of Cook/Bering when they were younger, originally posted to tumblr, and some drabbles of what they do and who they use to get back at each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tycho

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seb_the_owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb_the_owl/gifts), [tulioandesmi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tulioandesmi/gifts), [Royal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Regrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/668206) by [seb_the_owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb_the_owl/pseuds/seb_the_owl). 



> This borrows Cook and Bering's names from Seberu's Regrets.  
> Cook = Tycho; Bering = Kepler

Tycho frowned at himself in the mirror.  Old.  He looked old, like his father.  Twenty-six was too young for reading glasses, but the lieutenant had threatened to pull him from active duty, his scores in simulation dropping the harder the controls got to see, and he wouldn’t be able to hide it from Kepler much longer.  Wouldn’t be able to hide it from Kepler at all now, with the glasses.

He took them off and put them back on obsessively, as if trying it over and over could make them look any different.  The optician had lied, the wire rims didn’t make them any less noticeable.

“Ty?  Ty, where the fuck have you been—?  Oh.”  Kepler stood in the door of the bathroom, head tilted.  “When the fuck did you get glasses?”

Tycho flushed and snatched them off, trying to hide them in his hand.  He sputtered something, couldn’t even tell what, as Kepler crossed the little bathroom to take them from him, and Tycho watched as Kepler squinted and unfolded the glasses, holding them up to his face.

Handed them back with a smirk. “Put ‘em back on, you looked good,” Kepler said.

Tycho held them delicately, glancing between Kepler and the mirror.  “You think so?” he asked.

“Yeah, like choirboy cute,” Kepler said, moving to stand behind him.  He put his fingers on Tycho’s waist, lips on his ear, watching in the mirror as Tycho slowly put them back on.  “Maybe when we grow up you can be my naughty secretary, go back to blushing when I spank you instead of begging for it.”

Tycho flushed, twisting in Kepler’s arms to face him.  “Shut up,” he mumbled, trying to hide his smile as he undid Kepler’s fly.

“Make me,” Kepler laughed.


	2. Kepler

“Oh fuck, Ty, slow down—“

Tycho glanced up at him, wicked and cold behind his new glasses as he swallowed Kepler’s cock deeper.  Nothing like the blushing, bashful choirboy Kepler had fucked into the mattress their first week together, after a couple days of nervous glances.  This Tycho had that one’s look, but all the dangerous wickedness Kepler liked to think he was responsible for, even if in the back of his mind he knew he’d just been Tycho’s excuse.

He yanked on Tycho’s hair, trying to keep from coming in his sweet mouth when they both wanted something else.  “Ty—get up, come on, I wanna— _fuck_ —“ Kepler moaned, grinding his teeth as Tycho sucked sweetly on the tip of his cock, rolling his tongue over the head.  “Come on, princess, gonna fuck you so hard.”

“I thought you were going to spank me for being a naughty secretary.”

“Later, sweetheart.”  Kepler stripped out of his clothes, cupping Tycho’s face and stopping him when he moved to take his new glasses off.  

He pulled Tycho down on top of him then, laying them out on the cold bathroom floor and not giving a fuck.  Tycho watched him pull a knee up to his chest and start to slick himself, and Kepler could have come just from that, fingering himself and Tycho watching him, cold and hard with the glasses but flushed pink and wisps of pale hair falling from where they’d been perfectly smoothed back.  Kepler bit his lip to keep from moaning as Tycho stroked his own cock, getting off on watching Kepler fuck himself, the metal of Tycho’s piercing cold against the deep red of his perfect cock and wet with a little bead of come.

He yanked Tycho down to him finally, arching his back as Tycho propped himself up and rubbed the cold bead of his piercing and the hot tip of his cock against his hole.  “Maybe you need the spanking, since you’re begging for it so nicely,” Tycho murmured, eyes on on Kepler’s cock.

Kepler didn’t have time to snarl a response, moaning with the smooth pressure as Tycho pushed into him finally, fingers curling against the back of Kepler’s knee as Tycho held him in place.  

He wrapped an arm around Tycho’s skinny back, skinny and sharp as glass but burning hot with the cold metal of the floor under him.  He fisted a hand in Tycho’s hair, making it unruly, ruining the perfect facade Tycho put on for everyone but him, dragging him down to kiss as Tycho wrapped a hand around his cock.

“Never thought—never thought you’d be such a slut for this,” Tycho panted in his ear, mouth hot on Kepler’s neck.

“Only for— _fuck_ —“ he gasped, coming hard into Tycho’s hand, letting Tycho lift his ass and fuck him hard until he could feel the hot pulse of Tycho releasing into him, collapsing on his chest.

“Fuck,” Tycho breathed against his neck.

“Only for you, sweetheart,” Kepler said, kissing his temple.


	3. Cook

“Your _what_?”

“You know, hold the rings, pay the priest, all that.  Come on, Tycho, it’s not that complicated and we can go out for our own little bachelor party the night before.”

Tycho’s hands shook, taking his glasses off to clean them with the hem of his jacket.  Didn’t make a difference, though, it was his eyes that were blurring, not the glass.  “But you’re—when were you planning on telling me you’re getting _married_?”

Kepler frowned, fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter, sitting on their dresser insouciant.  “Well, never, if I’d known you were gonna get your panties in a twist about it,” he mumbled around the cigarette.  “Thought you’d be happy for me, baby.  I’m just gonna be married, not dead, it’s not like we can’t still fu—“

Tycho slapped him.  

Didn’t even notice or care when his glasses fell to the mattress, the mattresses Kepler had pulled off the bunks five years ago, in another room, on another ship.  When Kepler had torn it all away, the comfortable safety of never thinking about what he really wanted, the tidy lie he’d planned on living.  Kepler brought a slow hand to his cheek.  

“You’re getting _married_.  To a _woman,_ ” Tycho said slowly, trying to keep his voice from betraying him.

Kepler gave him a long look, getting his cigarette lit finally and blowing the smoke up at the ceiling.  “One usually gets married to women, Ty.  So you gonna do it or not?”

“No.  Move.”  Tycho swept his glasses off the mattress, trying to keep it together long enough to get his things, long enough to get away from Kepler.

“What’re you doing, princess?” Kepler said, not moving.  Just dangerous and coiled tight, waiting for Tycho to make a move.

So he did.  He left, walked out without bothering to get his things, and thought he didn’t regret it at all.

* * *

“Commander?  Commander Cook?  Are you alright?” Copernicus fussed fifteen years later, as Tycho—Cook, he reminded himself, Cook—stumbled over the threshhold for the first briefing at the new station.  Not his first command, but there was his first fighter, looking smug and comfortable seated across the conference table.

Kepler stood and moved across the room smoothly, hand absently brushing his goatee.  It made him look _distinguished_ and _patrician_ instead of dangerous and reckless, like he had all those years ago, like Tycho had always wanted.

Cook wanted to strangle him for it, but reached out a hand to shake instead, because Tycho and Kepler were gone, and Cook would only ever be professional.  Even if Bering’s handshake was as firm warm and familiar as if those fifteen years had never happened, as if he didn’t have a wedding ring screaming his infidelities on his other hand.

“Welcome aboard, _Commander_ ,” Kepler purred, and Tycho regretted all of it.


	4. Bering

“Can’t you shave it, like a decent person?  Instead of looking like you’ve been on a three-day bender all the time?” Tycho nagged, rubbing at the razor burn around his mouth from kissing.  

Kepler just laughed, propping himself up to drag his mouth down Tycho’s chest and belly, nipping at his soft skin.  “You’d miss it, admit it, princess.  Next thing you’d get me to comb my hair and put on a suit and before you know it you’ll be fucking an officer and having no fun at all.”

“I don’t know about that, fucking an officer sounds like a lot of fun,” Tycho said, shoving him off and flipping him onto his belly, hauling his ass up.  Navigators weren’t supposed to be that strong, weren’t supposed to be that aggressive.  But then they weren’t supposed to have pierced cocks and fighters who liked to be spanked, either, Kepler’s back arching as Tycho brought his hand down with a sharp crack.  “Bend you over the desk and make you beg for it, maybe?” Tycho asked, pressing the tip of his lubed cock against Kepler’s ass.

“Come on, Ty, you know you’d be doing the begging, you’re the one who— _fuck_ —“ Kepler yelped as Tycho slapped his ass again, the cold metal beads of Tycho’s piercing and the hot tip of his cock pressing into him.

“What was that?” Tycho murmured, pushing into him and reaching to stroke Kepler’s hard cock, his other hand steady on Kepler’s ass, holding him in place.  “I think you meant _please, sir_ ,” Tycho said, giving him another sharp slap.

Kepler laughed, panting hard as Tycho fucked him faster.  “Yessir, lieutenant _sir_ ,” he sneered over his shoulder until Tycho bent over him to bite his shoulder.

“I think you can do better than that, Kepler, don’t you have any ambition?”

“Fuck—harder— _Commander_ —“

* * *

Bering winced, hissing as he grazed the razor at the wrong angle and practically opened a vein, his hand coming away red as he dabbed at it.  Better to have gone down to the barber’s for it, but Tycho—Cook, he wasn’t going to slip, he was never going to say it again—Cook had taken to getting his shave and a haircut twice a month, Commander’s prerogative, and it wasn’t that Bering was so much of a coward as to not want to run into him there, just—didn’t want to. 

Taunting Tycho—fuck, _Cook_ —was all well and good across the conference table in meetings, when they both had to keep it civil in front of Copernicus and Galileo, where Bering had the upper hand to make Tycho— _fuck_ —squirm, and Bering didn’t need to give him any opening to ask about Maryanne and the girls, needling about all the could-have, would-have, should-have-beens, like his _stupid fucking beard_.

He threw the bloody towel on the floor, disgusted with it and himself.  The cut would ooze for a few more minutes, but he had laps to run, paperwork to do, and navigators to fuck, no time to waste regretting things that were never meant to be anyway.

Bering shrugged into his running clothes, slapping the comm panel on the way out to let Galileo know that he was on his way and the little shit better be ready to go when he got to the track.  Five miles or six would suit his mood, and Galileo would either keep up or get more laps tomorrow.

He rounded the corner into the last person he wanted to see then, having both commanders’ quarters on the same corridor someone’s idea of a joke or a torture.

“Commander,” Tycho murmured, reaching to wipe blood from his cheek with cool fingers before sweeping away.


	5. Chapter 5

Tycho was fucking gorgeous, all cool blank composure even with Kepler on his knees and sucking him off.  He could have cut glass, either with the sharp jut of his bony pelvis, or with the annoyed glare he gave Kepler when he leaned back to look up at Ty.  “You should get it pierced,” Kepler said, teasing the swollen tip of Tycho’s cock with his thumb.

“You should get back to work before I lose my patience and bend you over my knee,” Tycho breathed, hand tightening in Kepler’s hair, tugging a warning.  Kepler smirked up at him, teasing with the tip of his tongue right where he wanted Ty’s cock pierced, imagining tonguing it as Ty glared down through his glasses.

“Think about it,” Kepler said between light, teasing sucks, keeping Tycho too distracted to just fuck his mouth.  “Nice heavy piercing for me to play with while I suck you off?  What you think, princess?”

Tycho laughed at that, breathless and short, as Kepler finally swallowed him.  “I think you’re a selfish little bitch,” he said affectionately, stroking Kepler’s messy hair.  “You just want me to fuck you with it.  Maybe you should get your tongue pierced, if you just want it for blowing me.  Then every time you open your pretty mouth everyone can see just how much you like sucking cock,” Tycho said.

Kepler moaned around him with the dirty cheap thrill of it, because he had thought about it, thought about going out on leave without Ty and getting it done as a surprise.  But Kepler was selfish, wanted the small cold danger of it every time he swallowed Tycho’s gorgeous thick cock or begged for it when Ty teased him with just the tip of his cock.  Just a little cold secret between the two of them, like the cold, vaguely disdainful glances Ty gave him across the mess that meant Kepler was going to get bent over and spread open with Ty’s warm tongue sliding over his ass, getting him slick and wet for a hard fuck as soon as they were alone.

“Fuck—“ Tycho snarled suddenly, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose as he thrust once deep and Kepler swallowed his first bitter spurt of come, Tycho jerking Kepler’s head back to finish coming across his face and open mouth hot and thick.

Kepler licked his lips, savoring watching Ty come down from it even though he was shaky and hard himself, breath catching when Ty finally glanced down at him and wiped his come from Kepler’s cheek.  “You’re so gorgeous like this,” Tycho breathed as Kepler caught his fingers and sucked greedily, Ty shuddering with the aftershocks of Kepler’s promise and reminder as he rolled his tongue over Ty’s long fingers.

“Wouldn’t be able to fuck you for weeks,” Tycho said, shoving him away gently, easing himself down on the mattress between Kepler’s spread legs.  Kepler lay back, pushing his hips up to meet Ty’s lubed fingers pressing into him, wrapping a hand around his hard cock until Tycho loomed over him to drag his hand away.  

“What about that, Kep?” Tycho asked, smirking wickedly as he curled his fingers up and pinned Kepler’s wrist to the mattress, making his cock throb and pulse just from the circling pressure of Tycho’s fingers, two first and then three, making him bite back a whine.  “You think about that part, when you were thinking about how bad you wanted me to fuck you with some nice big piercing?  Or you didn’t think that far, just about how bad you want to have a kinky little secret when you feel it _here_ ,” Tycho murmured, angling his fingers up and dragging a moan out of him, broken and ragged, shivering with the hot pressure spiking into his cock.

He came with a little whimper, Tycho having never touched his cock, just kneaded his prostrate into hard, frustrating ache until Kepler came across his belly, barely noticing when Tycho finally stroked him through the last of it, crawling up to cover and kiss him as Kepler shook through the last of it.

He slapped Tycho’s tight bare ass when he finally came back to himself enough to think, Ty shuddering where he lay draped over Kepler’s chest.  “So you gonna do it or not, princess?” Kepler asked, arm tight around Tycho’s skinny waist as he kissed the blond’s flushed pink ear.

“Maybe,” Ty murmured sleepily.  He took off his glasses delicately, ignoring the sticky mess between them as he settled back with his head on Kepler’s sweaty chest.  “But you’re not getting anything else for your birthday.  Except a spanking.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Well?” Tycho demanded, leaning back against the head of the bed.

Kepler looked up at him, insouciant, and pressed a disingenuously chaste kiss to Tycho’s bare thigh, making his traitorous cock throb. “Thought you were gonna get pretty pink sparkles, princess.”

Tycho laughed, short and sharp, shoving Kepler away and reaching for a belt. “That’s what I’m getting tattooed on your ass, dear,” he murmured.

Just because they couldn’t fuck until the piercing healed didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun.


	7. Chapter 7

“Wait ten minutes, then leave,” Porthos said, straightening his uniform, not looking at Deimos still kneeling on the floor of the storage unit. “Tell Phobos Cain fucked up in training if he asks why you were late, he’ll believe that.”

Deimos picked himself up from the floor with a derisive snort, cut off as Porthos shoved him against the wall.

“Look, fighter,” Porthos sneered. “I’m the best thing that ever happened to you, and if you tell Phobos, if he finds out, it’s over. Remember that.”

* * *

Deimos lay on his back, digging his finger nails into Porthos’ back as the big navigator fucked him.  Rough, rougher than Cain would have even, because no matter what else Cain said or did, Deimos was still a person to him, not just a fighter, a feral dog, _trash_.  Deimos fisted a hand in Porthos’ hair, dragging him down to bite his shoulder, laughing silently to himself as Porthos cursed and came, one broad hand tightening dangerously on Deimos’ throat, but Deimos just waited, because Porthos was wrong.

The door chimed just on time, the sounds going in sequence just as Deimos had imagined.  The door, the sudden crack of Phobos’ tablet hitting the floor, his sharp intake of breath and then his screech.

Porthos scrambled away as fast as he could, his expression flickering back and forth between rage and abject terror, chased into the hallway naked with clothes in one hand.  “How _could_ you?” Phobos screeched after him, throwing the remains of his tablet down the hall after Porthos.

Deimos just lay there until Phobos came back to sob in the top bunk, because Porthos was wrong, he wasn’t the best thing that had ever happened to Deimos.  This was.


	8. Chapter 8

“You just have to reassign me, sir!” Phobos wailed, knuckling at his red eyes. Cook sighed, handing the box of tissues across the desk again.

“Look, son,” he said, moving around the desk to put a hand on the young navigator’s shoulder. Bering said that helped, but Bering didn’t get snot-nosed theatrics in his office every other week. Cook crouched to put himself at eye level with Phobos. “I know it’s hard, but—“

Cook was cut off with a wet kiss, tear stained and sloppy, Phobos leaning into him.

* * *

“But he’s sleeping with my fighter,” Phobos blubbered. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

Cook sighed again, brushing Phobos’ damp cheek with the back of his hand. Pulled Phobos’ skinny frame against him, all knock knees in a bed that had been empty too long. Phobos snuggled into him, sniffling.

“He’s not worth crying over, pet. Living well is the best revenge,” Cook said, stroking Phobos’ hair.

Advice he intended to follow, if he could just get Phobos to stop crying long enough to fuck him again.


	9. Chapter 9

“Someone’s in a mood this morning,” Galileo murmured to Copernicus, glancing to where Cook scowled at some poor hapless navigator. 

Copernicus just pursed his lips, primly sorting through files for the meeting later. Gave Phobos a significant glance where he slouched at his station, avoiding Cook’s attention all morning. “Someone doesn’t know his way around a Prince Albert. Heard Cook yell all the way from central last night,” Copernicus murmured back. 

Galileo looked back and forth between Phobos and Cook, horrified.  “No,” he breathed.

“Got it when he was our age, I heard,” Copernicus shrugged.  “For _Bering_.”

“I heard that too, I just can’t believe—with Phobos?  _Really_?”

Copernicus shrugged again, sulking that his most scandalous piece of gossip was apparently not that scandalous.  But Galileo probably hadn’t heard that Cook used to top; why would Bering brag about that?  “Maybe Phobos is better at giving head than Porthos said.  They did have a nasty breakup,” he said instead.  Couldn’t figure out why Cook would be interested anyway.

“He’s not,” Galileo said, still staring after the Commander in confusion.

* * *

“You don’t _pull_ on it, it’s not a doorknocker,” Cook hissed through gritted teeth.  

Phobos looked up from where he knelt, halfway between contrition and sass.  Cook ground his teeth, resisting the urge to shake the brat.  “I’m sorry,” Phobos said again, “I never saw one before, I thought you’d be into it, everybody said Bering used to—“

Cook placed a hand on Phobos’ cheek, shutting him up.  He leaned down, pulling Phobos up for a kiss.  Whatever Phobos lacked in finesse, he made up in enthusiasm, eager as a puppy and kissing just about as wet as one.  One more thing to train him out of.  

“I want you to commit whatever you were about to say to memory,” Cook murmured against his ear, tightening his hand in Phobos’ lanky hair, “and file it under things I never want to hear again.  Now get up here.”  He yanked Phobos up to him, almost charmingly clumsy and earnest, so eager to please as he put hands on Cook’s shoulders and straddled him.  A nice contrast to his melodramatics, once he’d gotten over that lumbering oaf Porthos, Phobos managed to be almost sweet at times, innocent in so many ways despite his pouted assertions that he knew very well how to suck cock and didn’t need instructions.

Even better when he shut up, head tipped back and moaning wantonly as Cook held his ass in place and fucked him, pleased with the virginal blush staining Phobos’ cheeks, even if he was anything but.


End file.
